the Saparmuratiad

Saparmurat Niyazov, President for Life, Turkmenistan

He's the President-for-Life
He can laminate his Wife
He rides 'round Ashgabat in a Rolls-Royce
Made of Uncle Ben's Converted Rice

He's the President-for-Life
Don't you give him any Strife
Or he'll boil you in Halvah
And fillet you with an Obsidian Knife

He's the only President Turkmen are ever going to See
In the cavernous Grand Ballroom every afternoon at Three
He inspects the nation's Cheerleaders and says:
"Wash me that one, perfume that one,
Scent this thin one, scrub that fat one,
And later in the evening, bring them hence to Me."

He's the President Forever
He's the Kaiser Permanenter
When Turkwomen and Turkmen
Gaze æons in the Future
In the Presidential Palace
They still see Saparmurat the Moocher

Underneath Turkmeni soil
Shitloads natural gas and Oil
At his feet Western investors all must kneel
As you shiver in December
In your Western flat, remember:
He's the guy with whom you need to make a deal

There's his ass, prepare to kiss it
With your tongue, try not to miss it
He prefers it anticlockwise, so get real

Here's the 10000-Smrski
You can buy with it a Pepsi
And some deep-fried balls of Kopetdag Goat
Just in case you'd been forgettin'
That's his Countenance, his Punim
And he's also grinning at you on the 50000 Note

There he is on the one million
That's still he on the quadrillion
I could swear that's he again
On the front of the septillion

And knock me over with a feather!
Both in sunshine and bad weather
There's the President-for-Life on the gazillion!